


A Million Years

by undeadstoryteller



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, Grimes Family - Freeform, future grimes kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-13 20:18:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10521093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undeadstoryteller/pseuds/undeadstoryteller
Summary: Set 15 years after Season 7. (Now a chapter fic!)





	1. Chapter 1

Breakfast time in the Grimes house had settled into an almost old-world routine -- almost. The younger girls, twelve-year-old DeDe and ten-year-old Andi, had their hair braided at the table while fourteen year-old RJ rattled on about his school sports team. Michonne always did DeDe’s hair because she was too impatient to let Rick do it; Andi only allowed Rick to do hers because she considered her mother’s faster braiding technique torture, with all the histrionics that went along with it. Judy, at sixteen, had grown out of wearing French braids, or so she had recently declared, much to Michonne’s chagrin. Now she always came down just as it was time to leave, skipping their morning rituals.

If you didn't pay attention to the actual words at the breakfast table these days, you would swear they were talking about high school football.

“You comin’ to practice today?” asked RJ, finishing off his eggs. “I’m going for the triple-trap.”

Rick looked up from the plaits of Andi’s hair between his fingers. “They’re letting you shoot a triple?”

“Coach says if I nail it, I could be a starter this year.”

“Already?” Michonne asked, stirring her tea.

“She says we have a chance to beat Hilltop this year.”

Rick huffed. “Hilltop.” He looked at Michonne, as if she had anything to do with it. “How the hell did _Hilltop_ take the championship for two years now?”

Michonne shrugged. “They have some good players.”

DeDe reached across the table to grab a piece of toast. “ _And_ they have a marching band.”

“We could have a band,” Rick said, finishing off Andi’s hair. He made a face. “Bands are impractical.”

“Mom says some things are just nice and we should be happy to have nice things,” DeDe said, as if she was reciting a poem.

Rick glanced at his wife. He wanted to give her an exasperated look, but he couldn’t suppress a smile.

“Anyway,” RJ said, “Carl said if I nail triple, he’ll take me to the Perimeter.”

Rick and Michonne both froze and glared at him.

“He _what_?” Michonne asked.

Rick shook his head. “That’s not even on the table at this point --”

“You’re only fourteen!”

RJ looked back and forth between his parents as they protested. “When Carl was fourteen --”

“When Carl was fourteen, it was a different world, RJ,” Rick said, pointing his fork at him. “Now, you’re good, but you’re still some years away from patrolling The Perimeter.” He paused. “I don’t know why you’d want that job anyway. I don’t know why Carl likes it.”

“He’s doing something important,” RJ said, “It’s like the most important thing.”

“The PG keeps us safe,” Andi interjected.

“They do, baby,” Michonne said in her calmest voice, a signal to Rick to reel in the _Do-you-know-how-hard-we-worked-so-you-don’t-have-to-deal-with-them_ speech that was itching to come out. She glanced at her watch and got up with a start.

“Where’s Judy? You’re going to be late again!”

Judith’s footsteps came barrelling down the stairs. “I’m coming! God!”

When she emerged, it was clear she’d spent the morning in front of a mirror. She’d cut her bangs so they fell over her eyes and flecked them with glitter. Her cheeks were artificially pink, an exaggerated rosiness that glazed her lips and eyelids as well. Teenagers in Alexandria didn’t rebel against the world by embracing sullen darkness, black lipstick and skulls. Their rebellion was blindingly bright, even if their attitudes didn’t always reflect it.

Rick turned and looked at her. “What’s this?”

Judith shrugged. “It’s just makeup.”

“Well, it’s too much makeup,” he said, getting up from the table and approaching her. “Go wash it off.”

Michonne sighed. “Rick --”  
  
“She looks like a deranged clown.”

“She looks _cute!_ ”

Judith bristled. “ _Mom!_ ”

“She’s a teenager, Rick.” Michonne handed Judith an apple. “And she doesn’t have time to wash it off. It’s fine.”

Judith gave her father a barely subtle _I won_ smirk and she bounced out the door as her younger siblings scrambled to follow her.

“Three o’clock, Dad,” RJ said as he headed out. “Triple-trap!”

Rick nodded. “I’ll be there.” As the door shut, he gave Michonne a look.

She shrugged. “What?”

“She looks ridiculous is what.”

“Well, it’s what the kids are doing.”

“You know Deanna’s going to want to wear makeup like that, too.”

“She probably will.”

“And you’re OK with that.”

“I’m not saying we should let DeDe wear makeup yet, but Judy’s a teenager.”

He shook his head.

She looked at him pointedly. “A _normal_ teenager.”

Rick drew back slightly as he started to see what Michonne saw when she looked at their glittery, neon pink daughter.

“Remember when she was a baby? Remember when we had no place to live, no food, no safety?”

He softened his stance and nodded lightly.

“Did you ever in a million years think that Judith would _ever_ be a normal teenager, going to high school and fighting with you about makeup?”

Rick paused, a smile creeping across his face.

  
“No,” he said, finally. “Not in a million years.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight change: I increased the younger Grimes kids' ages by a year each -- RJ is 14, DeDe 12, Andi is 10. (For those who read the first chapter before the update:) )

RJ sped past his sisters, rifle case slung over his back. 

“Hey Hersh,” he called. “Wait up!”

Hershel Rhee, just turned fifteen, stopped and adjusted his own case. “The hell man,” he said, brushing the chestnut hair out of his eyes. “I waited.”

They walked side by side without a word for a few steps before Hersh turned to him with a smile. “Oh, did you hear? The Quest got in 400 discs, good as new!”

RJ shrugged. “I don’t really like old music,” he said. 

“That’s because you never heard the good stuff,” Hersh said, pulling a CD case out of his jacket pocket. The boys stopped, both gazing at the jewel box. It had a drawing of a blindfolded woman holding a scale like the one in the infirmary. In the corner, the words “AND JUSTICE FOR ALL” were scrawled.

RJ paused, then made a face. “That sounds like something my dad would like.”

“No, no,” Hersh protested, “No man, Nick at the Quest told me, Metallica used to be the shit. His actual words.”

“In the nineteen hundreds,” RJ said, starting to walk again.

Hershel huffed and stuffed the case back in his pocket. “I’m telling you, this disc will change your life, RJ! After practice, we’re listening to it.”

“Fine,” RJ sighed.

 

* * *

 

This is how it worked on the walk to school: Judy walked in front, like she owned the town. Dede walked five steps behind her, because Judy had made her do it last year when she was going through a being sick and tired of her sisters phase, and she never told her to stop. Andi walked five steps behind DeDe because DeDe made her, because she copied everything Judy did. Mom said it was because she idolized her, but that didn’t make it less annoying.

Today, DeDe was nearly on Judy’s heels. 

Judy rolled her eyes and turned to her sister. “What?”

Neither girl missed a step. 

“Did you make it?”

“What?”

“Your eyeshadow and stuff.”

Judy paused, her medical textbook held against her chest. “Oh. Yeah. It’s mostly powdered hydrangea petals.” She glanced at DeDe. “It wears off in about 20 minutes, though. Don’t tell Dad.”

“I won’t!” DeDe smiled. There was nothing she loved more than sharing a secret with Judith.

 

* * *

 

Tara -- or Ms T, as the kids called her, scrawled out the word LOCKSTITCH on the blackboard and turned to her class of 17, one of three mixed level classes in town. She’d had the Grimes kids in her classes since it was just Judy learning to read, followed by Hersh Rhee. By the time Andi started school, there were almost 40 kids in Alexandria, some who had been born there, some who had migrated with their families to what they’d heard folks out to the west referred to as “The Promised Land.”

Reading was taught to the four-to-sevens, along with basic math. But the main focus of their studies was AIM -- agriculture, infrastructure, medicine. 

She added the word SUTURES to the board.

“OK,” she said, turning to the class. “Today we’re doing another lockstitch suture exercise,” She pointed toward RJ and Hersh with two fingers and opened them like a V. “Separate, you two.”

“We weren’t doing anything!” Hersh protested.

“I said you were being separated for the rest of the term. Did you think I was joking?”

“Oh, come on!” RJ said.

“Or I could just give you detention right now,” she said.

RJ was out of his seat before she finished. “Fine, God,” he muttered as he moved to the other side of the room.

Tara crossed her arms. She loved these kids like they were her own, and, like any good parent would, she didn’t take any shit from them. 

“OK,” she said, picking up a stack of pig skins and laying on on each desk as she talked. “I want my thirteen and ups to give me one flawless lockstich suture, three inches long.” A moan rose from the center of the room. She stopped. “OK,  _ four _ inches.” She continued. “You get five minutes, one chance, if the edges aren't even and the stitches aren’t straight, that’s a fail.”

More moans. “This is a basic life skill, guys,” Tara said. “If you’re thirteen and can’t give me one good lockstitch, I’m not doing my job.” She handed the last student a skin and stood in front of the board. “Eight to twelves, you’re going to watch the thirteens and up, then you’ll have ten minutes to do it yourself the best you can….”

DeDe raised her hand. “Can I do it with the thirteens and ups?”

Tara feigned surprise. “Oh, DeDe, is it your birthday?”

DeDe blinked.

“No, it’s not,” Tara said. “You’re with the eight to twelves. Rules are rules.”   
  


* * *

 

Michonne flipped through the day’s files at her desk.

“More chicken cases?”

Rick looked up from his tablet and shrugged. “You don’t mess with people’s chickens.”

Michonne sighed. Once a week, she mediated disputes, and, when it came up, which wasn’t often, heard criminal cases.

“I don’t get it,” she said. “These people aren’t starving. Brett Davis? He’s got more than we do, why is he --  _ allegedly _ \-- stealing the Fowlers’ chickens?”

“Well,” Rick said, sitting back in his chair. “As long as there’s value in something, there’ll be stealing.”

“Maybe we should stop making these civil cases,” she said. “Make them criminal. Attach some real consequences.”

Rick exhaled sharply. “I don’t think we have the holding space for that.”

“We don’t have to put them in  _ jail _ …” Michonne got up and started pacing like she did when she was frustrated.

Rick leaned forward. “Chonne, this is nothing. It’s  _ nothing _ .”

“I know, but --”

“It’s a few chickens. Davis’ll compensate the Fowlers, done deal. We all move on.”

“To the five other chicken cases I have this week.”

“It’s not  _ that _ many.”

“We kept all the livestock in a central pen, it was a problem. Now people can keep their own chickens -- it’s a problem.”

Rick stood up and faced her, cutting off her pacing. “Well… maybe we could add a chicken detail to Patrol.”

“It isn’t funny.”

“I’m not laughing,” he said, but he was. 

She looked at him and shook her head lightly. “OK, it’s kind of funny.”

“Yeah.” He shifted. “Want to meet at RJ’s shooting practice later?”

“If I’m done here, yeah,” she said. “Where are you going?

“Patrol briefing.” He leaned in and gave her a kiss. “Good luck with the chickens.”

“I’ll try.”

  
“You’ll figure it out,” Rick said, opening the door to leave. “I’ll keep an eye out for anything suspicious.  _ Somebody’s _ got to clean up these mean streets.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Dad…. Hey, Dad!”

Rick looked up to the bleachers, in the direction of his son's voice.

“Carl?” He walked up the metal steps toward him. “What are you doing here?”

“Are you kidding?” Carl said, “I wouldn’t miss RJ’s first triple “

Rick glanced at the field, then back at Carl. “When did you get back?”

“A few hours ago.”

“Does Mom know you’re back?”

Carl looked at his father and shrugged. “I went straight home and came straight here,” he said. “I’m going to see her after.”

Rick nodded. “OK,” he said. “She might come by here, so…”

“Oh, cool.”

Rick sat down next to Carl, watching the field. “Did he go yet?”

Carl shook his head. “Nah, they’re just setting up “

Down on the field, RJ looked up to see Rick and Carl in the bleachers. Rick gave him a thumbs up.

Rick glanced over at Carl. “So, how’s it going out there?” he asked.

“Good,” Carl said. “Fine. Uneventful.”

“That’s good.” Rick paused. “Do you need anything? Food? Blankets? Guns?”

“No, we’re good,” Carl said.

“You got enough water?”

“Dad,” Carl turned toward his father so he could see him with his good eye. “If we need anything, I’ll let you know. It’s good. It’s secure.”

Rick nodded. They watched as the coach launched the test targets, between 5 and 6 ⅓ feet off the ground. It was more difficult than hitting them higher in the air, but walkers don’t fly, and at the end of the day, this sport was about teaching kids, some of whom had never seen a walker in their life, how to land headshots. In the event they needed to someday.

RJ was one of the kids who had never seen a walker. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. A man named Max died alone in Alexandria in his sleep one night. He was up and about before dawn. Rick told RJ to stay inside when he got the call on the radio, so RJ glued himself to an upstairs window to get a glimpse. He only saw the back of him, but he saw his father cut him down effortlessly. It was almost anticlimactic. RJ wanted to slay walkers ever since.

“You know, RJ’s really good,” Carl said. “Really good.”

“I know it,” Rick said with a nod. They sat in silence for a few minutes, as the team pulled their test shots.

Finally, Rick turned to Carl. “Did you tell him you’d take him to the Perimeter?”

Carl hesitated. “I mean, I didn’t promise him anything…”

“Why would you do that?”

Carl shrugged, surprised by his father’s tone. “I don’t know,” he said. “He wants to go. It’s all he talks about --”

“Well, of course he’s going to talk about it with you,” Rick said. “That doesn’t mean he’s ready.”

Carl shifted.”He’s a teenager --”

“Barely.”

“-- and he doesn’t want to be treated like he’s a little kid.” Carl paused. “I agree with him.”

“The thing is, you don’t get to make decisions for him, Carl. You don’t”

Carl exhaled. “OK,” he said. “I overstepped. I’m sorry.”

Rick shook his head as he stared off at the field.

“But I honestly don’t get it,” Carl said. “This is the world he lives in, the world all of us live in. You can’t just shelter the kids from that.”

“ _This_ is the world they live in.”

“No. No it’s not. This isn’t the real world. He’s heard the stories, he should see --”

“He sees and, and what?” Rick interrupted. “It’ll change him. He’ll be changed.”

“And better prepared if something happens, Dad.”

Rick clenched his jaw and took a deep breath.

“I learned from a young age --”

“And do you think I would have ever, _ever_ wanted that for you?” Rick looked at him, his expression not so much anger, but sadness. “I never wanted that for you. If I could have sealed you away from the world, I would have. I didn’t have that choice. With the little ones, it’s different, I had the choice, and we’ve made sure they wouldn’t have to go through what you did.”

“Dad, I get it,” Carl said. “I’ve got a son too--”

“You don’t get it. You’ve never seen your son get half of his face blown off.”

Carl didn’t miss a beat. “No, I _had_ half my face blown off. And I survived. Because you and Mom made sure of it. So whatever guilt you’re feeling over my childhood, know that I know you did the best a father could, and don’t put it on RJ.”

**_“Pull!”_**   RJ’s voice floated up to the stands as he aimed his rifle.

**_Crack, crack… crack._ **

* * *

 

Michonne laughed, and took a sip of wine. Dinner time was Family time. “So then Brett announces he’s calling a surprise witness!”

Maggie set her glass on the table. “Get out.”

“He did.”

Rick shook his head. “I can’t believe I missed this.”

“So, who was the witness?” Carl asked.

“Rupert Fowler. Ed Fowler’s son.”

“Get _out_!” Maggie laughed.

“What did he witness?” Carl asked.

“Well, as it turned out, the chickens were a gambling debt. Rupert gave them to Brett himself.”

Rick was still shaking his head. “They’re gambling with chickens now?”

“Apparently they’re a popular currency,” Michonne said.

“So,” Maggie said, “did Brett have to return the chickens?”

Michonne shrugged. “I mean, there’s no law against gambling for livestock. It’s just a debt. Rupert acknowledged it. He owed Brett the chickens, and he had a right to them. Of course, now Ed has a grievance against Rupert. But that’s for another day.”

“Well,” Rick said. “It beats robbery and murder any day.”

* * *

 

Rick sat on the edge of the bed, watching Michonne do her evening rituals, tying up her head scarf and applying the lavender-scented lotion Enid made by the bucket and took to the trading post every week. It was a ritual Rick still relished. Once upon a time, such everyday luxuries were non existent.

“RJ did great today,” he said.

She screwed the top on the lotion jar and set it on her dressing table. “I hate that I missed it,” she sighed.

“Well, you had that chicken gambling ring to deal with.” He smiled.

She slid under the covers and positioned the pillow against the headboard. “I guess we _should_ be happy that that was the biggest case I’ve had all year.”

He nodded. “Yeah.” He paused, then turned toward her. “I had a good talk with Carl at practice.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. A good talk. He made some good points.”

Michonne looked at him suspiciously. “About what?”

He got up and slid under the covers beside her. “I was thinking, maybe if I took him to the Perimeter, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

She sighed. “We agreed it was too soon, Rick.”

“I know,” he said. “I know we did, but Carl isn’t wrong. We shelter the kids. Give them a sense of security --”

“Isn’t that what we worked and fought so hard for?”

“Yes,” he said. “But the world we’re leaving them isn’t just the Allied Territory.” He paused. “We’re raising them to keep things going in the future. They need to know --”

“They do know --”

“They need to see it. RJ needs to.”

They sat together in silence.

“I’ll take him. Just one afternoon.”

Michonne sighed. “I don’t know, doesn’t that make it seem like we don’t trust Carl?”

Rick shook his head. “It’s not a trust issue. I’m his dad, I should be the one to take him.” He glanced at her. “You can come, too.”

She made a face. “I think that might be a little much,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, settling in. “But you’re with me on this?”

Michonne nodded. “I’m with you.”


End file.
